


a whim and a dash of recklessness

by ThePrettyTomboy



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, POV Second Person, Princess Prom, it's just a dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 11:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16680784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrettyTomboy/pseuds/ThePrettyTomboy
Summary: You didn't used to dream.





	a whim and a dash of recklessness

You didn't used to dream.

Even in a room full of snoring cadets, your sleep always came swiftly. Nightmares couldn’t plague you as long as you slept at the end of the bottom bunk, curled around Adora’s feet. But here, in the private room that comes as one of the many so-called perks of your appointment to Force Captain, you lie half-submerged in a world of fantasy, not fully aware that you're dreaming and unable to make your escape.

You're back at the All-Princess Ball, hanging off of Scorpia's arm. The two of you saunter across the shimmering hall of ice as countless eyes fall upon you and whispers begin to spread like refracted lasers throughout the crowd. But among your new admirers, only one set of eyes matters. You smirk at Adora as she glares at you from the mezzanine. You know full well that you’re the better half of a stunning couple, and you want Adora to know it too.

And just like that, you’re twirling across the dance floor with Adora in your arms, her glare a thousand times more intense with just a whim and a dash of recklessness separating your face from hers. The crowd presses in around you until you’re dancing through darkness on a patch of soft pink light. “Hey Adora.”

Her eyes glint with the cold of the ice castle that has melted away into nothing, but her fingers still grip the curve of your waist with the strength of a girl whose whole life was devoted to ascending the ranks of the Horde. “Catra.”

The two of you twirl inside your circle of light until you’re dizzy with the crackling electricity that buzzes in the sly suggestion separating her chest from yours. Your feet come to a halt, planting themselves in the absence of ground beneath you, but the world continues spinning until Adora’s face is the only anchor you have in unreality.

And then she dips you low to the ground, even as your mind screams fruitless protests against the discrepancy, and you’re dangling over the edge of Castle Chill as the last shard of ice screeches back into place. Adora’s lips, twisted in distress, hang just a tearful apology from your own.

_This is wrong._

You jolt upright in your bed, in your empty room, body cold where the last of Adora’s hope separated you from the end you deserved. The ceiling of your room is snaked with metal pipes that hum and creak a familiar lullaby, and you turn over on your side to stare at the wall.

You didn’t used to dream, but ever since Adora defected to the rebellion and left you at the mercy of your own ambition, dreams are all you have.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe after I finish NaNoWriMo I'll write something longer. But for now, I cannot get the dance out of my head so have it.


End file.
